Bottled Lightning
by Original Blue
Summary: Lightsbridge. The largest concentration of academic mages anywhere around the Circle Sea, where Tris has dreamed of studying for years. But why does the first person she encounters in her new home have to be an ambient weather mage?
1. Prologue

**I've ALWAYS wanted to write Tamora Pierce fanfiction. Well, here you go. =D**

–**Blue**

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**Bottled Lightning: Prologue**

**By Rachel Poulson**

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The area surrounding Lightsbridge was beautiful, a picturesque town with rolling hills. Unfortunately, its tranquility was lost on the redheaded girl panting up the spiral stairway of one of the many towers.

_Honestly_, she thought, _these stairs are ridiculous._

And she might have used her magic had she not entered Lightsbridge as an academic mage. If she so much as stirred the dusty air, one of the many mages who resided in the magical university might sense a weather witch's presence. Short of breath, she reached the top of the stairs, lugging her suitcase behind her.

At last she reached her room, where she would spend the next two years becoming an accredited academic mage. It was rather small, but her teacher Niko had warned her not to expect the luxuries she'd become accustomed to in Tharios and during their travels south.

A content expression settled on her face, and she pushed her glasses back to the bridge of her nose, where they'd slipped in the day's heat.

This was a place where she could become a credit to her family, to her teachers. This was a place where she could easily become one of the crowd. This was a place where magic thrummed in the atmosphere from the concentration of mages, both ambient and academic.

The young woman smiled slightly.

Then Trisana Chandler set her luggage on the bed and began to unpack her books.


	2. Chapter 1

**3/5/11**

**Yay, Tris… I love you. =D By the way, the 'lightnings and oceans' thing is from 'Blade of Fire,' by Stuart Hill (another **_**fantastic **_**series).**

–**Blue**

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**Bottled Lightning: Chapter 1**

**By Rachel Poulson**

**––––––––––**

Classes were due to start the next day, and that was fine with Tris. An enthusiastic reader and mage by nature, she couldn't wait to hear lectures on the fundamentals of academic magic. She was naturally gifted with both types of magic: academic, in which the mage drew power from within, and ambient, in which the strength of a craft item or a mage's surroundings is used.

Trisana enjoyed learning academic spells; they could be easily controlled and directed. It was her flashy, extraordinarily powerful skills as a weather witch that had caused her so much grief over the years. She recalled an instance in which she'd kept a thunderstorm over her home in Winding Circle, mildly flooding the fields because she couldn't bear to let the last spring storm leave.

What a hiding Rosethorn had given her! The thought brought a smile to her lips. That had been in her second year with the Dedicates, before she had studied the effects of overwatering. Her foster-mother Rosethorn and her foster-brother Briar had soon remedied that; she'd spent the better part of a month helping her teacher Niko to examine the weather patterns over the Circle Sea, making sure she hadn't caused any unforeseen damage to the weather systems.

Having finished her unpacking and not wanting to remain idle, she picked up her book on the astrological myths of the far north and began to read, settling on her narrow bed. Only when the bells in one of the white towers tolled, calling her to supper, did she briefly stop reading.

…

The food was simple but plentiful; mages used plenty of energy even when not practicing magic. She ate absentmindedly, eyes focused on the book in her lap. She was so engrossed in her reading that she didn't feel the slight pull on her magic that was Sandry trying to get her attention.

_-and the pressure drops, aiding the formation of rain, sleet and snow in the northern regions of-_

Eventually, her foster-sister spoke in exasperated tones: _Tris, are you reading _more _astronomy?_

The redhead started, looking around, and then realized who it was and answered the blonde girl. _It's astrology, actually. I didn't think you could reach me from Summersea; where are you?_

_We're in northern Emelan,_ the thread mage replied, letting Tris see through her eyes for a moment. She stood on a rocky outcrop, Daja at her side, as a storm gathered in the distance. _We wanted to say hello and ask how you're doing._

_Polyam wrote to me a month ago,_ came the fire and coals voice of Daja. _The Tenth Caravan Idaram was traveling this way, and she wondered if we'd like to join them. I sold plenty of the living metal to them while I was here, so I was thinking of adding some workshops on to the house. What do you think?_

_Daj, she hasn't even had a chance to tell us how she_'s _been,_ Sandry chided gently,_ give her some room to think!_

The dark skinned girl laughed aloud. _I've never known anyone to think fast like Tris – lightning and oceans, you might say. Speed and depth._ Her bright teeth flashed against her brown skin, and she pulled her many braids into a horsetail. _I know you'd appreciate the analogy, Tris, weather witch that you are. It's a shame you're not here to see this storm._

Tris propped her chin on one fist. _I'm sorry too. The weather here is nice, I suppose, but it's boring._ She examined the impending clouds through her friends' eyes once more. _You'd better tell _gilav_ Chandrisa to move fast. That storm is moving fast, and it'll be a real bruiser._

_We'll tell her,_ Daja assured her sister.

_Is this a girls only conversation, or can boys join too? _came a fourth voice, green and growing like vines.

The girls all groaned.

_Finally decided to speak to us, have you?_ demanded Sandry. _After shutting yourself in your workroom with your student for a day and a night, then coming out exhausted from the magical working? And Evvy won't say a word; she's more tightlipped than Mila of the Grain, who talks to the Green Man but once a year._

_Sythuthan, you talk a lot!_ he cried. _Let a cove speak once in a while, or I'll tell Lark to set you to weaving a thousand blankets._ Sandry hid a grin as the other two snorted.

_You'd think Rosethorn would have beaten some sense into him by now, _Tris remarked,_ often as she's threatened to hang him in the well._

_I know she's all bluster,_ he said. _She's like you – prickly as a porcupine until you know how to handle her._

_I'll not be handled by anyone, Briar Moss,_ she thought back sharply, _least of all a disrespectful thief like yourself._

He chuckled, and the girls could feel through their magic that he'd picked up his _shakkan_ tree. _But you have to admit, it'd take a bit more than some flash and howling winds to get me to run away. You girls have been an experience, I'll tell you that. Say, Tris, you just need to find yourself a man – or a woman, I guess – who'll stand outside to watch it rain and laugh when they get struck by lightning. Someone like that will at least have a chance of handling you._

A wry smile settled on her lips. _And where do you suppose I find a mage like that?_

Briar shrugged as he set the pot down. _You're the one at the mages' college. It's as good a place as any._

_Why aren't you with Daj and Sandry?_ Tris asked. She realized he was back at their house, in the garden, coaxing some garlic cloves back to life; they'd been bruised by a stray pebble in the loose soil, and would rot and die unless he helped them.

_He's got a new sweetheart – a stone mage who's been helping out with Evvy,_ Daja said, and the other girls smirked.

_I told Rosethorn I'd help with the planting,_ he retorted, dusting his tattoo spattered palms. _And Evvy wants to go back to the Battle Islands and make sure there are no more active volcanoes. Did you know she talked to the spirits of the islands?_

_All of which he says to divert from you discovering his lovely novice, Mari, _Sandry thought.

_She's a city girl, too,_ Daja added, _Pretty as may be, but with a sharp tongue in her head when it suits her._

_Let's leave Mari out of this,_ he continued hastily. _I'll tell you skirts about the islands in my next letter, but Rosethorn's due back any minute, and she'll tan my hide if I'm not done with this garden. Remember to keep an eye out for some good books for me, Tris. I expect the library there's got to have _something_ new._

_Honestly, Briar, if you want to court Tris, you should announce your intentions, _drawled Daja.

He replied with a very detailed insult in Tradertalk. _Safe travels, you two, and keep your nebs out of any trouble along the way!_ He broke off contact, presumably to escape the wrath of his teacher.

_He makes me want to sew children's clothes in his size and force him to wear them, _Sandry remarked, taking a deep breath of the clear air._ I'll applaud the courage of any woman who can hold his interest._

_Remind me to tell you both about my brother, Uneny - he made me so mad I once tied his hammock shut on Third Ship Kisubo._ Daja waved a hand at the incoming storm, which was now almost upon the pair. _I think I'll go now, if it's all the same to you, Tris. Or should I wait until we see some lightning? Tris? Tris?_

But Tris couldn't answer. She was staring at someone who had sat down two tables away from her, so oblivious that her fork hung in midair before her mouth. A single thought ran through her mind, making her sisters shiver.

_Weather mage._


	3. Chapter 2

**3/5/11**

**Yes, another really fast update…**

–**Blue**

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**Bottled Lightning: Chapter 2**

**By Rachel Poulson**

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She stood abruptly, making the bench wobble until she steadied it with shaking hands.

_Tris?_ her sisters called, alarmed. _Are you alright?_

Belatedly, Tris realized that he most likely couldn't see magic and had no idea what she could do. She thumped back down, trying to find her page again. _I'm fine, you two._ She breathed in and out deeply, mimicking the breath patterns of meditation. _Sorry about that; it was just a surprise._

She took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes for a moment. She'd had her magical sight spelled so that she could see what type of mage she was dealing with; now she altered it to see the power within. A silver gleam seemed to edge over her vision, coating nearly everyone in the room with a pale glow. She examined the newcomer, surprised. He was weaker than she'd expected, but he could certainly do more than the average mage, who struggled to catch a single wind. She blinked, releasing the working, and put her glasses back on.

_He seems well enough,_ she thought grudgingly as she set her book down once more. She picked up a hunk of bread and used it to mop up the remains of her meal. _Not much training, but he must know something, if he's survived this long._

_What does he look like?_ Sandry asked eagerly.

_Take a look for yourselves,_ Tris said, and glanced again in his direction for her sisters' benefit. The mage seemed to be about twenty. He wore a nice suit, perhaps custom tailored, but his ash blonde hair was cut severely, only an inch or two long. But the thing Tris saw most was the way the air currents stirred around him, moving with him, _obeying_ him, as though he were the master and they his loyal dogs.

He sat beside a slightly older woman, who wore her fair hair pinned and curled with beads and a silken scarf. Tris could feel Sandry's delight as she examined their clothes. Across from the pair sat a tall boy with long, curly hair and skin as dark as Daja's; he had his arm around a tiny pale girl whose hair was twisted up under a cap. The blonde woman said something rather loudly to the others at their table, and they all laughed, including the weather mage.

Tris looked down hurriedly, not wanting to draw his attention. _I'd better try to avoid him._

Far away, now safely inside one of the caravans, Daja nodded. _Be careful; don't try any of the big stuff, even if you're not on the campus. By the way, which name are you using? The last time we spoke you and Niko still hadn't decided yet._

_Seaspeaker,_ Tris thought, standing up with her tray and book. _Triselle_ _Seaspeaker._

_I assume the Seaspeaker is for your weather skills. _Sandry pulled a sweater on over the loose tunic she wore. _Have you thought about what surname you'll pick for practicing ambient magic? I think you should be called Trisana Stormbringer, but I know that might not go over so well with Niko and Rosethorn–_

Tris struggled not to scowl as she handed her tray to the servers in the hall; seeing another weather mage had made her more short-tempered, if possible. _I _have_ been thinking about it. But it won't be so flashy. Windbearer, perhaps, or Tideseeker. I don't need to advertise what I can do._

_I think you should choose Windbearer, Daja said. Trisana Windbearer, of house Chandler. It'll have a good rhythm when people read about the great mages centuries from now. And I'll be Daja Aspenforge, of ship Kisubo, and we'll have Sandrilene Lightweaver, Duchess of Emelan. But Briar will always be Briar Moss of Deadman's District._

The girls giggled or smiled, depending on their nature, at their brother's unchangeable ways. Trisana walked out of the hall into the sunshine, hearing her sisters say their goodbyes and wishing she could be with them, and Briar, and Glaki, and Little Bear, and their teachers. A wave of homesickness washed over her, but she pulled off her glasses and wiped away the glimmers of tears. She'd chosen to go to school far away for a reason; little word of the four's accomplishments had made its way this far north. She rammed her glasses back onto her nose and straightened her spine.

Slowly Tris headed towards the girls dormitory, feeling the warmth of the day, but wishing it was raining. She could nudge things around a little, bring in a few clouds from the west- no. She'd sworn never to mess with major weather if she could help it, and bringing a brief respite from the boredom of sunshine was hardly a justifiable cause.

...

She'd gotten so caught up in examining the weather of the place that she'd completely ignored her surroundings, and it wasn't until she actually bumped into someone that she came back to herself.

"Oh, I'm so sorry–" she looked up through her spectacles into the dark brown eyes of the boy who'd been sitting across from the weather mage. Up close he was even taller than she'd realized; he would loom nearly a head over Briar, if he were there.

"It's fine." His smile was friendly, and Tris was immediately reminded of Daja's lilting accent, slightly musical from her childhood speaking primarily Tradertalk.

"Excuse me," she asked politely in Tradertalk, "But am correct in thinking that you are _Tsaw'ha_?"

He laughed, throwing back his head. "Indeed, you are," he replied in the same language. "It is interesting that a southerner such as yourself would speak Tradertalk, especially with the accent of the Blue Traders. Are you _Tsaw'ha_ as well?"

Tris shook her head, grinning slightly. "I am not. But my _saati_, Daja, is. She was a Blue Trader on the Pebbled Sea."

"Was?" His brow crinkled. "Did she join a caravan?"

The redhead let her grin spread slightly. "In a way. But now she works as _lugsha_ at home in Emelan." Tris savored the way the word rolled off her tongue, knowing that Daja enjoyed being both _Tsaw'ha_ and _lugsha, _something said to be impossible. "She's a smith-mage," she explained.

"She is fortunate then," he said, seeming confused. "I spent four years persuading my parents to let me study here. I even refused to learn from our caravan's _mimander_. How did she get permission to work and study outside of her caravan?"

Tris's expression hardened. "Her family was killed in a storm, and she was declared _trangshi_," she snapped. "She saved a caravan from a forest fire, and they paid to have her record cleared." She blushed a mortified crimson; she hadn't intended to say so much, especially about something that had caused Daja so much pain. And she knew she had been rude, but that was always secondary in Tris's book.

The boy seemed startled, and then he blushed as well, harder to make out against his dark skin. "I am sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to pry. I will pray for her family, Oti log it, Koma make it so." He framed his eyes with two fingers, the Trader version of a vow.

Tris shook her head. "I am sorry as well. I didn't mean to speak of it in such a blunt manner, especially to a stranger. My name is Tris – Triselle Seaspeaker. I am here to study academic magic." She held out a hand, which he grasped in greeting.

"I am Onani, of Fourth Caravan Rillae, and I am studying academic magic as well. It is nice to meet you, Triselle." He released her hand. "I am sorry, but I'm afraid my friends are waiting for me." He gestured up the slight hill, where the group from earlier, plus two new faces, was heading towards them. "Would you like to walk with us? We were just on our way back to the dormitories."

She raised her brows. "Won't they mind?" She thought desperately, trying to think of some reason to refuse his offer, but nothing came to mind.

Onani grinned. "Not at all. And it's nice knowing someone here who speaks Tradertalk without biting their own tongues in half."


	4. Chapter 3

**3/6/11**

**Oh yes, **_**another**_** update… Well, it's 1 in the morning, so I had to change the date. =P**

–**Blue**

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**Bottled Lightning: Chapter 3**

**By Rachel Poulson**

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Tris laughed as the group reached them.

"Are you ready to leave, Onani?" inquired the tall blonde in Common. She had a fan in one hand, and was gently swaying it back and forth in front of her face. "Or are you going to introduce your friend?"

Sighing, Onani switched to Common as well. "I would, Andria, if you would but leave me a moment to do so. This young woman, who I was having a fine conversation with before you came along, is Triselle Seaspeaker, of Emelan, who speaks fluent Tradertalk, a novelty in this school. And now you should do her the courtesy of introducing yourselves."

The blonde, Andria, smiled, and it softened her face considerably. The group began to move towards the dormitory wings, and she spoke. "I am Cassandria Fullert, of Lairan. This is my cousin Evertson Fullert-" she elbowed the weather mage sharply in the ribs "-also of Lairan."

Evertson smiled sheepishly at Tris. "You can just call me Evert. And ignore Andria, she's just in a pet because I won't escort her friend to a party-" he dodged another well placed elbow and glared at his cousin, rubbing his bruised side.

At that, the slight girl who had sat within the circle of Onani's arm, held out her hand and introduced herself as Rhealle of Karang. Tris shook the offered hand warily; something about the girl reminded her of Glaki, who was liable to get into mischief if left unsupervised.

The two newcomers were obviously siblings, if not twins. They both had long black hair, but the girl wore hers down about her shoulders, and her short bangs framed her kohl-lined eyes. She spoke first, in a honeyed voice. "I am Koja, and this is my brother, Koura. We are from Bihan." She formed the words carefully, as though unsure of the language. Tris understood that; Bihanese was wildly different from Common. "My brother does not speak Common very well. Please-" her brow crinkled as she attempted to find the right word, and she cursed softly, making Tris snort.

Tris knew that one from Briar, whenever he stubbed his toe or left burn salve over the fire for too long. But the boy, Koura, raised an eyebrow at her, and said something in Bihanese, which Tris struggled to translate. She thought he had asked if she spoke Bihanese, but the word for the language and the country were very similar, and she hadn't understood everything he said. "I'm sorry, but I only speak a little Bihanese," she confessed in Common. "Mostly swearwords."

Koura smiled. "It is… alright," he said haltingly. "My sister exaggerates my… quiet nature by assuming I do not… speak the language." He looked up at the sky, where the sun was setting in a brilliant shade of pink. "I believe our group must part here," he said; they had reached the dorms.

…

Inside the tower, Tris swore under her breath as she made her way up the cursed stairs. A low chuckle made her turn around, and she saw Koja smiling. "I have never heard abuse in so many languages at one time."

The redhead blushed, which did not help her already reddening complexion. She was grateful that Cassandria had left them already; her room was on the first floor.

"Where did you learn to curse like that?" asked Rhealle, wide-eyed.

"My brother has perfected the art of swearing," Tris huffed.

"Indeed he has," Koja continued pleasantly as they reached the next landing. "Hatarese, Pajunna, Bihanese, Tradertalk, and Janaales; truly, he is an artist. And he has taught you well."

Tris forced a short laugh from her lungs. "Don't let him hear you say that; he'll be insufferable."

Koja stepped off the stairs on the fifth floor. "I will see you tomorrow, Triselle Seaspeaker, Rhealle of Karang." She half bowed and walked along the corridor.

Rhealle, Tris learned as they panted up the stairs, was on the eighth floor. Tris was suddenly very glad to be only on the sixth. She waved goodbye and crossed the hall to her room, where she sat down among the books on her bed and gave a sigh of relief. She hoped that today would be the form of every other, and that no one would discover what magnitude of mage she truly was.


	5. Chapter 4

**4/20/11**

**It's 12:35 in the morning, and I **_**really**_** want a can of iced tea, but I'm saving I've already had one today, and I'll be seriously wired if I drink it now. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the update.**

**Just finished the chapter, now it's 2:27AM. I need to go to sleep. =)**

–**Blue**

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**Bottled Lightning: Chapter 4**

**By Rachel Poulson**

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In the beginning the classes were more difficult and amazing than she could have imagined. Her bag of text books was constantly stuffed, and she actually had to carry some of her materials under her arm. Briar had made a special wooden box for just such an occasion. He'd chosen the best wood and taken it to Winding Circle's carpenters to have it inlaid with a picture of a storm brewing above the sea on the distant horizon. She carried her pens and other writing materials in there, and each time she opened it she lovingly stroked the beautiful colors.

The first semester was foundation courses, testing the basics that any mage needed to survive, let alone work their often volatile magic. Tris was enrolled in six classes: a class on the basic rites and rituals used by nearly every accredited mage; a mandatory class on the natural sciences; a lecture class concerning using ambient and academic magic in conjunction; a literature class, which Tris was especially looking forward to; and two laboratory classes, the first on the chemical compounds used in spells and other magics, the second a basic healing class, dealing mostly with non-magical skills, which Trisana herself had elected to take.

Nearly eight years after the devastation, she still shuddered at the memory of the damage she'd done to the pirate ships. The fear and disgust had made her even more determined to learn something which could mend people. She'd met with one of the head healers of Lightsbridge during the summer, while Niko looked on. She'd thoroughly demonstrated her power for the stern faced man, who took notes as she manipulated first lightning, then wind and water – it snowed briefly inside the classroom. Then she'd been taken outside and instructed to release a small amount of one of the earthquake braids at the nape of her neck. She did so grudgingly – it always left her feeling tired to use her braids, regardless of the use to which she put them. They returned to the building, where she heated a piece of glass until it was molten in her bare hands.

Then the healer had ordered Niko out of the room. "I need to speak with her," he snapped. "She is not a child, and as such will need to make decisions without the coddling of her teacher." Reluctantly, Niklaren quit the room.

The professor looked her sharply in the face. "You command incredible forces; I do not envy you that burden. For all the good your magic makes possible, you could also destroy a nation if you so wished, although personally I doubt that you could act so rashly or in such an uncontrolled manner. You may well teach here one day, as my colleague. But for all your incredible power, you are still learning what it truly means to be a mage and a human being. I must ask you: are you willing to have someone else's life in your own hands?"

Trisana didn't frighten easily, but something about this man, who so casually commanded her teacher, who could teach her to use her magic to keep people alive, made her swallow.

For weeks, while traveling with a caravan from Emelan, she'd thought constantly about the work that would be necessary to become a healer. The years, the control, the strength of will that would be essential.

She gulped down the lump in her throat and nodded. "I-I am. I want to learn to help people."

Still examining her with his coal black eyes, the healer smiled thinly. At least Tris assumed that was his smile; he looked like he had bitten into something tart. "Then you will learn." And with that he walked out, spoke abruptly to Niko in the hall, and strode away, back towards the healer's wing of the university.

Tris caught her teacher's eye, and he smiled. "I don't want to sound sentimental, but I think he liked you. I've never heard him praise someone who wasn't already an accredited healer, but he couldn't seem to get over your skills."

"Nonsense," she retorted. "He's probably just in shock over the fact that I wasn't lying or exaggerating about what I can do."

"Well, I can see _you're_ in a wonderful mood – let's go eat something, then I'll take you on a tour of the campus. I think there's still a tree out in the gardens with Crane and Rosethorn's initials formed by vines."

Tris managed a weary grin.

...

"_Triseeelle_," Rhealle called to her. "Come on! You can't spend such a beautiful day sitting on your bed reading books."

"Watch me," the redhead grumbled back. Rhea's words reminded her of the lack of shade outside, which Tris hated more than anything. Nothing could make her go outside where she would be both hot and miserable. Better that she stay up here, in the breezy towers, where she could lounge in the warmth without her skin burning a fiery red, as it was wont to do.

"Fine," Rhea huffed. "I'll just have to stay here then." She flopped down on the floor next to Tris's bed and picked up a book, which she then began thumbing through disinterestedly.

Over breakfast that morning, Tris had learned that she was fifteen, not yet enrolled at Lightsbridge. She was apprenticed to one of the clay mage teachers, a potter by the name of Jodana Firetouch, who was also an ambient fire mage. Tris wondered if Firetouch used her heat magic in conjunction with her clay magic in the same way Tris had used magma to help her student blow molten glass. But with Kethlun it had been easier; she could concentrate on heating the glass as he steadied his breath and contained the lightning magic which thrived within him.

Rhea huffed impatiently in Tris's direction, but the weather mage paid no heed. She was wrapped in her novel, one of the few pieces of fiction she allowed herself. It wasn't one of the sappy romance novels that Sandry, and sometimes Daja, enjoyed; it was a detailed account of a war between two nations as the people, especially the mages on either side struggled with their notions of right and wrong. It also included several interesting chapters which outlined the troop movements and tactics, then described the factors which affected these plans, including weather, terrain and natural resources. Tris was fascinated.

After a half an hour or so, there was a knock at the door. Tris looked up, but she was too enthralled to be truly annoyed. "Enter."

The door opened, and in stepped Koja and Koura, their kohl freshly applied. "We were thinking about... eating outside," Koura said in his steady manner. He seemed more talkative around Koja and Tris than the others; he was studying ambient water magic, so perhaps he subconsciously recognized a kindred spirit in her. "Would you like to join us?"

"Hm..." Rhea said, engrossed in her book. "That sounds nice." She carefully turned the page, and Tris glanced at the cover of the book.

Oh god, it was one of Sandry's nonsensical books about tragic and tawdry affairs between mages. She covered her eyes and groaned, forgetting that her sister was actually close enough to hear her. _Sandry, why did you put that in my luggage? I didn't even notice it when I was unpacking, and now Rhea will want more..._

_Well it's not _my_ fault, _Sandry replied wickedly, setting the table in the small room the sisters were sharing on their trip. _If you hadn't brought so many boring books in the first place, maybe she would have taken an interest in one on stars or birthing cycles among livestock. I know how much joy you take in seeing other people learn._

Tris scowled. _I'll burn that book. I don't even think those things deserve to be _called _books._

_It's not like it's corrupting her,_ said Daja, who was changing clothes on the other side of the room. _You'll make sure of that. And besides, everyone needs a little romance once in a while, Tris. Even you._

_Not me, _she retorted._ It steams up my spectacles, which means I'll have to keep cleaning them. And you know that I _hate_ to redo perfectly good work. _Her foster sisters chuckled.

Aloud, Tris said, "I'm sorry, Koura, Koja, but my skin burns easily in the sun, and I don't think this weather agrees with me very much."

The twins looked at one another and had a rapid conversation in Bihanese. Then Koja smiled and turned back to Tris. "If you will not come down with us, then I am afraid we will have to join you." She looked back at the stairs and said something to her brother in their native tongue. "Koura will invite Onani and Evert, and Evert's cousin if she is available. Is this agreeable?"

Tris raised her eyebrows as she thought it over. Finally she sighed. "It's fine with me. Rhea?"

The pottery mage-in-training didn't respond, unless a faint swoon of appreciation for trashy novels applied.

Removing her spectacles to rub the bridge of her nose, Tris swung her legs off the bed and went to help Koja get some food from the kitchens. They stopped by the bakery wing and were lucky: a senior cooking class had just finished making several batches of pastries and sweets, and the two girls went away with loaded arms. Trudging back up the stairs softened their good moods a little, but they were welcomed enthusiastically by Koura and Onani, who had been unable to find the two cousins from Larain. The meal lasted more than an hour, and by the time they had finished eating, it had been decided that they would visit the town outside of Lightsbridge the next day during their rest period.


	6. Chapter 5

**5/31/11**

**Wow. I haven't updated this in more than a month. XD Sorry, guys. Well here's a new chapter to soothe your Tris withdrawal.**

–**Blue**

* * *

**Bottled Lightning: Chapter 5**

**By Rachel Poulson**

**––––––––––**

Tris had never imagined it this way. She'd never really had friends her own age other than her three foster-siblings and Little Bear.

When she'd imagined Lightsbridge she'd thought of the soaring stone towers Niko described and the cramped workrooms Rosethorn complained about. She'd thought of four years of solitude in which to dedicate herself to her studies.

And there _were_ soaring stone towers and cramped workrooms. But there was also magic thrumming in the air, the scent of herbs cloyingly heavy. Occasionally a low shudder would pass through the grounds, the wards on the classrooms warning students that a spell had gotten out of control in the ambient magic experiment class. People called to one another between classes and laughed, eating quickly in order to get back to studying. Tris had never imagined that people could find the energy to maintain friendships or relationships _and_ work their magic for nearly ten hours a day.

She passed her basic healing class, to her immense relief.

In fact, she passed all of her classes first semester with very good grades. She studied almost every spare moment, and when she wasn't studying she went to an empty classroom to meditate and practice her lessons. There was a set of warded narrow rooms with mats on the floor for students to practice in, and there were several rooms for big magical workings, but you had to get permission from a teacher to use those.

Tris had no such need. Although she could see the wardings on the rooms were strong, she always added an extra layer of her own barrier spell. Then she settled down into a tailor's seat, took off her spectacles, and let herself sink into her magic.

It was usually late at night by the time she had finished, and she made her way back to the dormitories carefully. There wasn't much to fear on the Lightsbridge campus except accidentally turning an ankle on the wide lawn that wound between the buildings.

She had never imagined the freedom.

...

They knew she was a weather witch. They didn't know the extent of her power, certainly, but they knew she had some ambient weather magic. She hadn't meant to tell them, but one day Onani and Kouja put two and two together and asked her what ambient magic skill she had.

"It's weather," she confessed, looking down, bright red. "I'm a weather witch."

There was a moment of utter silence as she waited for their rejection of her. Then, confusedly, Kouja spoke up, his accent less pronounced after only a month: "You think this is a bad thing, Tris? So you have ambient magic; everyone who studies here has some form of magic, and it's not like you're using it for evil or something."

She shivered, remembering the pirates, but nodded. "I guess I was just worried what you guys would think about it."

Onani raised a dark eyebrow, his face lined with mirth. "You don't give us nearly as much trouble as Evert, and we _know_ he's a weather mage. We're not going to disown you because you didn't spill your innermost secrets to us." He hooked an arm around her shoulder and yawned. "Let's go get some lunch, Miss Weather Witch."

Tris wasn't very comfortable with Onani's habit of hanging on whomever he happened to be walking with, but she bore it for a moment, thankful for his acceptance. She flashed a grateful look at Kouja, who winked a kohl-darkened eye.

...

On the first day of the second semester Professor Smokewind glared at the students gathered in his classroom. He taught the advanced Application of Vision Magics class, but his forbidding expression made him seem more like a prison warden.

"You are not mages," he announced, "until I say you are."

Trisana sat up a little straighter in her seat.

Niko had told her _all_ about Smokewind and his moods. He'd told her all the things to bring on the first day of class, including a spare pair of spectacles in her writing kit. She had her papers neatly stacked in front of her with a quill, ink and nibs, with the wooden writing box from Briar stowed in her shoulder bag, which sat demurely under her desk. She sat extremely still in the second row.

The old man, his gnarled elbows and knees visible under his heavy robes, prowled back and forth in front of the class. "Can anyone tell me what the most important thing a mage can learn is?"

Several student tentatively raised their hands. Tris remained silent and still, knowing this would draw his attention better than standing on her desk.

She was right. He directed his glare at some of the more eager students and walked up the aisle to her desk. He peered over his wire-rimmed glasses, which were so much like her own. "Answer," he barked.

She took a deep breath. "The most important thing a mage can learn is the limitations of magic."

The class had hushed in anticipation of Smokewind's reaction. His hand had frozen in the act of stroking the thin mustache that arced over his mouth. He looked sideways at her in suspicion. "Do you know someone who's taken this class before?"

Tris nodded. "Niklaren Goldeye, sir. And Dedicate Crane at Winding Circle. I believe his name was Isas?"

When she dared glance up, the old man was smiling slightly, which was somehow even more terrifying than when he was glowering. "Ah," he muttered. "Niko wrote to me last semester. You're _that_ mage."

Tris grimaced and nodded. She was _that_ mage.

...

Smokewind's class soon became her favorite course. She sat through her class on the natural sciences with barely concealed boredom, though she still had the best grades.

Kora, who sat next to her on one side, was equally bored. She was one of the rare mages born with the same talent as her twin. She couldn't wait to get into her next class, a marine biology class where the students waded into the lake near Lightsbridge to study the creatures.

On Tris's other side sat Andria Fullert, her eyes red and swollen. This wasn't unusual; she got too little sleep. She was in her last year, and she was focusing on magical cleansing practices around the Pebbled Sea. She was constantly in the library looking up obscure facts for her thesis paper and demonstration. When they'd first met, Tris hadn't taken to her, finding her proud and vain, but she'd never seen someone so dedicated to her studies. On one hand, Andria wore grand clothes whenever they ventured into the town outside campus; on the other, she stayed up until all hours wearing a pale shift and some soft breeches, eyelids drooping from exhaustion. Tris had formed a sort of companionship with her in their late night study sessions.

But today her eyes were truly swollen, not just from lack of sleep, and she kept her eyes closed to slits beneath her blonde bangs; Koja made a joke about it which Andria did not return. She just lowered her head further and continued her silent note taking.

Tris could feel that something was wrong. She caught up with the taller girl after class, panting a little from the stairs. "Andria, wait!" She put a hand on one hip to ease a stitch in her side. "Talk to me, please."

Andria turned around and looked up, and Tris could finally see what she'd been hiding all through class.

"Andria," she breathed, "what happened?"

Her eyes had gone from a milky shade of brown to red tinged with orange. Andria wiped away a tear. "Oh Tris, I was so stupid. I let him try the spell on me, he said it wouldn't hurt, he said nothing could go wrong..." She rubbed furiously at her eyes, and Tris could understand why they were swollen.

"Who did you let cast the spell?" Tris raised her eyebrows.

Cassandria sighed longingly. "A boy I- well, I like him, and I hope he wants to court me. Only now the color won't change back, and he says it'll wear off, but how am I going to explain this to my parents, they're visiting next week..." She broke off again, covering her face with her ink-stained hands. "They'll make me leave Lightsbridge. They can't do that, I only have another four months until I graduate, until I get my credential."

She looked like she was about to burst into tears again, so Tris carefully put a hand on her shoulder. "Andria," she said, not unkindly, "I think it looks fine. Honestly. My bro- a friend of mine, he tried to tattoo himself a few years ago. He's a plant mage, and he used vegetable dyes; the tattoos move now, and change depending on his mood. _You,_ on the other hand, have a temporary spell that altered the color of your eyes. Your boy is right. The spell isn't very strong; it should fade in another day or two."

Cassandria had colored when Tris said "your boy," but she seemed a great deal calmer now, and thanked Tris. "I just get myself worked into swivets," she explained. "I used to get like that when a spell wouldn't work right. I would exhaust myself trying to complete it and then be worried when nothing was happening."

Tris had to smile. "It happens to the best of us. Now let's go to our next class, shall we?"

Andria wiped her eyes one last time with a black handkerchief and was about to reply when a familiar figure came bursting around the corner. Evert had a harried look in his eyes. "Andria! Tris! You haven't seen a small tornado around here, have you? It escaped from the classroom, and I can't find it."

Tris was outraged and curious at the same time. "You let out a _tornado_?"

He shrugged, still looking panicked. "I was trying to create a dust-devil and it got away from me."

Tris closed her eyes, wishing she could mind-speak with her siblings. _Lakik, Sythuthan, whatever you're called, give me patience for people with no self control. That thing could cause real damage if it gets outside._

Making her decision, she reached up and plucked off her blue-tinted glasses, letting images flit past her in a constant stream. Seeing one that looked likely, she pulled it in with her magic and examined it, questioning the breeze it came on. "It's in the north corridor of this building."

The cousins from Lairan turned to stare at her. "What?" she said, feeling color creep into her face. "I'm studying vision magics."

That settled it for Andria, who was back to her old self. "Come _on,_ Evert, unless you want to have to deal with a full sized spinning monster." She clutched his sleeve, muttering under her breath. But Evert shot Tris a frown and a curious look as he was pulled away.

_As far as he knows I just have a little weather magic,_ she reminded herself, stealing through the dimly lit hallways towards Smokewind's classroom. _I just have to keep it that way._


	7. Chapter 6

**3/18/12**

**I'm really excited for the new Avatar show, Legend of Korra, which comes out April 24th. I'm also waiting for the next Tammy book, the one about Rosethorn, Evvy and Briar. I'm a big Rosethorn fan, so this should be good. :)**

**This chapter is an update on the other three in the Circle, and maybe a bit about their teachers. ;) I adore Crane and Rosethorn, almost unbelievably so.**

**Stayed up until 4:15am to finish this, so forgive me if some parts are a little rough. But I thought you guys deserved an extra long update.**

–**Blue**

* * *

**Bottled Lightning: Chapter 6**

**By Rachel Poulson**

**––––––––––**

Daja:

Having returned home from her trip north with Polyam and Tenth Caravan Idaran, Daja Kisubo traveled home, to Summersea. There she worked for several months, alternating between her magecraft and smithing. She loved both, and sometimes it was nice to work them separately. But today she wasn't working; she was visiting her friend and mentor. So she entered the temple city and walked the long spiral rode towards the Hub, the heart of Winding Circle.

"Frostpine!" she called in greeting, stepping into the dimly-lit forge. The glow from the fire reflected off her dark skin, flashing against her bright teeth and eyes. No one answered her from the depths of the forge, and for a moment she sagged against her brass-capped staff, disappointed. She'd missed her teacher in the past few weeks, but her work had kept her too busy to visit. Maybe she'd think about buying a horse, so she could make this trip whenever she had the time and not have to arrange for a mount.

For the time being, Daja decided to take advantage of the silence and the heat of the forge. She sat on the bench outside and began her meditation breathing exercises.

After ten minutes or so, a tall, pale skinned youth poked his head around the doorway and saw her. He grinned, stalking forward and tapping her on one shoulder.

She looked up, startled, and returned his smile with one of her own. "Kirel! It's good to see you!" She gave him a quick hug and examined his new dedicate robes. "They look good on you. How's the temple life treating you?" Together they walked around the side of the forge, looking at the line of trees that marked the border of some of the temple gardens.

Kirel stroked his new red habit proudly. "I thought I'd never pass the temple tests, but Frostpine was right. They weren't too terrible, or no one could ever become a dedicate, let alone an initiate." He slapped her on the back. "What about you? I heard you've got a workshop in the city, and you're thinking about taking on some students?"

"Well, maybe one student at first," she admitted as they reached the well. She drew a bucket of fresh water and the two former students shared it. "I taught those twins when I was in Namorn, but it was hell trying to match them both. And maybe I'll teach someone who's a bit older, and who isn't so energetic. And they'd better want to be smith mages if they're coming to me." She smiled at the memory of those bubbly twin mages, Niamara and Jorality Bancanor.

Kirel laughed. He knew Daja could handle anything students could throw at her, but he also knew she'd sorely like to teach someone her own craft.

They looked towards the path at the sound of footsteps. "What's this? My former underlings conspiring against me in the shadow of my own forge?" A tall black man with an easy smile and wild hair approached them, his dirt smutched habit tied out of the way of his powerful arms.

Daja leapt to her feet. "Frostpine!" She gave him a hug, far tighter than the one she'd given Kirel, and leaned against her staff. "We're hardly in the shadow of your forge," she said seriously, "and you taught us too well for us to conspire so openly. We save our best conspiracies for our late night rendezvous," she informed him.

Kirel covered a smile as Frostpine laughed broadly. "I passed a runner on the way here," the smith mage said to Kirel. "You're needed for a workshop, Dedicate."

The pale man flushed with pleasure at the title, but he said goodbye and went quickly along the nearest road that arrowed towards the Hub.

"Now let's go back to the forge, shall we?" Frostpine asked. "We've a lot to talk about. Have I heard whispers of you taking on students at last?"

"I'm not sure what you've heard. But I do intend to take on a smith mage student, if I can. There are too few teachers for us odd ones, and something Tris said back in Namorn made me remember what I owe to you, and to Niko, and Lark and Rosethorn too." She shrugged. "I also like to teach, but this debt is important to me. It could change someone else's life."

Frostpine smiled; even after all these years, Daja was still a Trader, through and through. "I thought you'd say something like that. For all you were annoyed with Nia and Jory, I know you couldn't be prouder of them." They approached the forge, and the loft above it where Frostpine lived.

"Now come inside and tell me about how you intend to train these mages – or non-mages, if it comes to that."

Daja smiled and followed him into the familiar heat of the forge.

…

Sandry:

The situation wasn't straightforward, for Sandry at least. Her uncle was the Duke of Emelan, and his son Frantsen (along with his increasingly grasping wife) was next in line for the throne. Then came Gospard, but he had written his father indicating that he would abdicate if chosen to succeed him as duke. Finally there was Franzen, who seemed as eager as his oldest brother to rule the dukedom.

But there was also Sandry. And she knew, knew in the pit of her stomach and the little furrow in her brow that her uncle was considering naming her as his heir. It was that thought that made her clench her fists in her lap and refrain from chewing her nails as she sat in her uncle's study, reading through the year's account books for the realm.

In a chair six feet away, Duke Vedris considered his niece thusly:

Lady Sandrilene fa Toren, niece to the Duke of Emelan, cousin to the Empress of Namorn, holder of extensive funds in Emelan and former countess of the largest fief in the Namorn, Landreg. Sandry, the thread mage, the stitch witch famed for weaving servants into the walls and floor when they kept her from her gravely ill uncle. She was one of the four, the Emelan four, the Winding Circle prodigies, the ones who got their medallions at age fourteen. She was famous within Emelan and its surrounding countries, but also infamous in Namorn for defying the Empress. She was dangerous, very dangerous, especially when surrounded by her mage foster-siblings or their great mage teachers. That could be a good thing, for her to be a little notorious when ruling a throne that was coveted by two ambitious men who were Vedris's direct descendants and hereditary heirs.

That, he thought, was why he'd had the will drawn up.

There were some things he would not wait for, and having his sons poison or otherwise assassinate him was extremely undesirable. So one day last month, without consulting his niece, who would have been sure to protest the decision, he'd called his seneschal and great friend, Baron Erdogun fer Baigh, and had him witness the changes to the will. Also there to witness were Yazmin Hebet, Vedris's lover, and two great mages (whose ongoing relationship had come as some surprise to the four young mages), Dedicate Superior Moonstream and Niklaren Goldeye.

In the will, Duke Vedris had named Sandrilene fa Toren as his heir to the Dukedom of Emelan, to become effective when she turned thirty-five, when he abdicated, or if he died, whichever came first. If he died or stepped down before she turned thirty-five, Baron Erdogun would serve as her advisor as needed.

Although it pained him to do it, he'd also worded precise instructions in the case of Sandrilene's death. He'd given the remaining three of the Emelan four what they would most seek – absolution. They would have the freedom to hunt her killers in whichever way they saw fit, but the killers must be presented alive to an Emelan court of law, where they would be tested by a truthsayer and sentenced accordingly. He'd also mentioned that anyone who chose to help the avengers, namely Winding Circle mages, would enjoy the same freedoms. He felt certain that those terms would discourage any would-be assassins, especially those who used magic.

Vedris hated to create personal provisions in such a way, but he was most concerned with what was just. If someone – namely his sons – had Sandry killed, they would be held responsible for regicide. Sandry's foster-siblings would have the chance to seek their sister's murderer, to repair a little of the hurt done by her death. And Sandry – Sandry would be avenged by those who loved her.

In addition, this was his will. Vedris had ruled as a kind but fair ruler for all of Emelan, and he was not willing to be seen as weak when it came to his choice in heir. He would protect Sandry in any way he could. If that meant protecting her from her own flesh and blood, and his, so be it.

Sandry was intelligent, and he knew she was suspicious of his and Erdo's secrecy concerning the will and the dukedom. Well, time to get his feet wet.

The duke set down the papers he'd been staring at, unseeing, and turned to his niece. "Sandrilene, my dear, there's something I'd like to tell you."

Her eyes flickered upward from the accounts, sparkling. "You're finally proposing to Yazmin?"

Erdo muffled a chuckle as Vedris blushed slightly. "Ah, no. I'm afraid not."

"Oh, don't worry, Your Grace," Erdo said dryly, "the whole city's been expecting it for months." He smiled at his longtime friend.

Vedris sighed; this was not at all how he'd meant it to go. "There was something else I'd hoped to speak to you about, something important." He glanced meaningfully at his seneschal, who immediately stopped smiling and straightened in his seat. Vedris cleared his throat. "My dear, I've named you as my heir."

There was silence in the room for a moment as Sandry stared at her uncle. Her mouth hung open. He smiled at her expression, which not even a trained courtier's face could mask.

After her mind began to process this, she opened her mouth to argue. "But uncle, I'm not–"

He held up a hand for silence. "Listen, please, before you try to convince me to change my mind. Firstly, I've already had the documents signed, witnessed, and made official. It was sealed by the nobles' Council of Twelve and the Mage Council last week. Word of it has by now most likely reached my sons, of whom Gospard is the only one I told beforehand." He ran a hand over his bald skull. "Secondly, I've already made this decision. I have the support of not only the ruling Temple Council of Winding Circle, but your teachers. I wrote to them explaining my intentions, and they all supported me."

Vedris leaned forward, looking into Sandry's equally dismayed and elated face. "Thirdly, my dear, you are the only one I can trust to do this. I have no doubt that my sons, educated as they are, could not do a tenth as well as I know you will. I have complete confidence in you. You were born to be the Duchess of Emelan, Sandry, and you know it as well as I."

Again, there was quiet as Erdo nodded approvingly at the duke and Sandry considered the duke's words. Finally, after a brief but intense study of the carpet, she looked up into her uncle's eyes. "I was afraid you'd do this while I was away," she said, and her voice cracked. She wiped away the beginning of tears. "Oh uncle, I have no idea if I can do this. But I promise you, I love Emelan with everything I have, and I'll do my best to be a good ruler." She was crying openly now, but smiling too, and the duke handed her a handkerchief. She laughed a little as she took it, wiping her eyes and politely blowing her nose.

The duke leaned back in his chair, smiling broadly. "Do you know, this was the part I was most afraid of? Not even convincing the councils, or writing to my sons to tell them they'd have to settle for being rich instead of royal. I was terrified that it was too sudden and you'd tell me no. I was fully prepared for you to do so. I know you want to continue your mage studies, so I've written the will so that you'll have until you're thirty-five." Or until I die, he added privately, but he didn't want to ruin her happiness, and gave her a hug instead.

Afterwards, Sandrilene fa Toren sat down to write letters to Tris in Lightsbridge, and to Niko, Lark, Crane, and Rosethorn, in Winding Circle. Then, her thoughts organized, she sent out the messengers and sent out a call with her mind.

Briar? Daj'?

…

Briar:

He was tending his shakkan when he got the news. As Sandry explained though, he set down his shears, dusted off his breeches, and punched the air in victory. His grin was infectious as he walked out into his little garden afterwards, feeling the green life around him and knowing his good mood was benefiting every plant within a mile.

Rosethorn was there, sleeping on a cushioned bench he'd set up under one of the larger trees. Next to her sat two tomato plants, fully bloomed, but grown strangely. Briar smiled even wider. Dedicate Initiate Crane had sent Rosethorn the plants as a challenge, a reminder of the way she'd paid him of almost ten years ago for the shakkan Briar had stolen – saved, really – from Crane's greenhouse. Rosethorn had warned that tomato plants grown in the greenhouse wouldn't taste the same, and it seemed that after all this time Crane had finally found the right conditions in his greenhouse for the plants to thrive.

Briar decided not to wake her, but as he was stepping quietly back into the house, her eyelids twitched and she glanced over to him. "You'd better not be messing about, Briar." She rubbed the sleep from her eyelids. "That was a good dream you interrupted."

"Was it about Crane?" he teased wickedly. Everyone knew that Crane and Rosethorn were sometimes more than friendly rivals.

Rosethorn's mouth twitched. "Oh go on inside, you brazen nosed thief. I swear Crane still expects you to steal everything he lets out of his sight." She stood and stretched. "I'd best get back to Winding Circle. I finished strengthening the latest batch of medicine headed for Urda's House an hour ago." She checked the position of the sun. "Actually, about two hours ago. I slept longer than I thought."

"You did miss quite a bit," he agreed. "I just spoke with Sandry. The duke's finally told her formally that she'll inherit."

Rosethorn broke out into a broad smile that rivaled Briar's own and gave him a quick one-armed hug around the shoulders. "Well I hope she doesn't let it go to her head. Otherwise you'll need to knock her down a peg or twelve, you and the other girls." Briar knew that behind her tart words, Rosethorn was incredibly proud of Sandry.

She and Briar walked out through the garden gate together, where Rosethorn had picketed her horse just inside the house's magical wards – no one would be stealing that horse. Briar helped her up and then walked down the street, whistling.

He whistled a tune that Lark had forbidden him to whistle while at Discipline cottage – he'd grown up in the slums, so there had been quite a few songs he was forbidden to even hum under her roof. He was simply impressed that she knew the songs he was singing, and was reminded once again that she'd lived until her mid-thirties as a tumbler and a street performer.

And then she became a Dedicate Initiate of Winding Circle, and a great mage, he thought. And I've become a healer and a rich bag, and Tris is becoming an accredited academic mage, and Daja's a respected Trader who's going to take on a student. And someday Sandry will be the Duchess of Emelan. The world turns, Niko said. I just didn't know it could turn so quickly.

He reached the end of the street he was on and turned left when a voice rang out behind him.

"Briar Moss!" The voice was furious, but young and female, so he turned around. When he saw who it was, he smiled in anticipation.

"Nice to see you, Mariska," he said with a grin. "Did you like the flowers?"

The black-haired girl shook a fist at him as she approached. She was crimson with fury, and in her hand she clutched the remains of a bundle of flowers. "Moss, I thought I made it clear that I didn't want you getting me any more roses." She threw the crushed petals at him. "If I see so much as a daisy from you, I'll make sure my father hears about it."

He put his hands in his pockets and leaned towards the girl. He liked that she wasn't shy about being near boys, and that she wasn't afraid of being mad at him. "If I'd known you didn't like roses, I'd have gotten you something else," he said with a shrug. "But I don't intend to give up. What kind of flowers would you like?"

She crossed her arms. "I don't want any flowers from you, Moss! I know your type. All flash and glitter, but no real gem – just a bunch of rotten ore." Her blue-grey eyes were focused on him. "If you're really as honorable as you say you are, you'll back off. I've made it clear what I want, and it's time for you to stop bothering me before I find a way to make you stop." She balled her hands into fists. "I'm a mage. I can find some pretty inventive ways."

Briar raised an eyebrow. "Mari, do you really think I'm just some half-bit romance-crazed mage who's looking for a bedmate and someone to amuse me?" He rolled up his sleeves so she could see the vines on his hands; they twisted and changed colors according to his mood. She leaned forward to look, surprised and fascinated.

"I like you, alright?" he said quickly. "If you've talked to Evvy about me, you'll know what I'm like. And I'm not some rich boy looking for a mage girl to fawn over me, either. I grew up in the slums, and I know what hard living's like." He met her eyes briefly, and then looked away.

"I'm all knotted up, when I'm around you," he muttered, gesturing towards the loops in the ink. "I always say the wrong thing."

She reached out tentatively. He flinched slightly from her touch, and she gasped when the flower turned bright purple under her finger. The other flowers slowly turned the same color as the first.

She looked up at him, and his cheeks were red under his olive skin. "I've got something to up at the Citadel," he said, "but I'd like to see you later. Maybe when I come to see Evvy tonight?"

She seemed to remember where they were and who she was talking to. "I'm not going to roll over for you, Moss. No matter what kinds of flowers you give me." There was a faint blush in her cheeks. "No matter how pretty they are."

He smiled at her, and her cheeks grew warmer. "You're a stone mage. I should have guessed that I should give you stones." He drew a little pouch out of one pocket, a pouch he'd filled with Evvy's help, trying to find things that Mariska would like. "I know stone mages can sort of feel the tones within rocks, so I thought you'd like these. Evvy says they each sound pretty." A smile flashed under his thin nose that made her blink and clear her throat. He handed her the pouch. "I just wanted to give you something pretty," he said, and stepped away.

As he walked once more towards the Duke's Citadel, he heard her voice behind him. "This doesn't mean I like you, Moss! And the roses weren't really red!"

He chuckled and continued on his way, the glow from the city settling over his warm features.

…

Tris:

When she got the letter, she started crying. It was completely unexpected, but there she was. Sitting in her room, sobbing and grinning broadly, and having to wipe off her glasses every few moments.

It wasn't just the letter from Sandry, describing her uncle's decision, or the copy of the will she'd enclosed, knowing Tris would want to read it, or the invitation to Duke Vedris's wedding to Yazmin Hebet, or the knowledge that her sister would be Duchess of Emelan one day – it was all of these and the knowledge that they were all finally fitting into the world in the way they were meant to.

Finally she took off her glasses, and lay on her bed, and blew her nose, and wiped her red eyes, and laughed to herself, and reread all of the letters for a second and third time.

There were also updates from Daja, Briar, and Lark, the latter of whom had included a short paragraph dictated by Rosethorn along the lines of "don't come back without your credential, we're proud of you, but we'll hang you in the well if you fail, this is not an idle threat."

She bundled up the letters and put them in the little magically protected chest tucked just under her bed. The chest also contained the melted blob of metal that had once been her cousin Aymery's earring, the bird embroidery Sandry had given her when they'd first met, and the book "The Wind's Path" by Quicksilver, a gift from Niko which had taught her to scry the winds. These were all her prized possessions.

She stopped crying and watched the sun go down outside her window, for once unable to keep from smiling.


	8. Chapter 7

**4/04/12**

**I had my wisdom teeth out yesterday. That was pretty unpleasant. I've been on vicodin for the past 48 hours or so, so please excuse any discrepancies in this chapter. I took my pills again about half way into this, and it might get a little funny, but rest assured that I'll go back and reread this tomorrow (mostly to fix any goofs).**

**I just wanted to write this to say thanks for the support. :)**

–**Blue**

* * *

**Bottled Lightning: Chapter 7**

**By Rachel Poulson**

**––––––––––**

"Your control is getting better," said Professor Boneweaver. "It's almost good enough for you to enroll in my class at the beginning of next year."

The short man with the closely clipped beard stood next to her worktable, arms clasped behind his back. His flinty eyes stared seemingly through her work, uninhibited by the bright glow of magic Tris saw. She'd adjusted to seeing it, slowly, but at certain times she had to adjust her magical vision in order to see well. Times like now.

_I'd certainly hope it's gotten better,_ she thought, _since I've been working myself blind for the past month._ She settled for saying "Thank you, professor." Her hands were steady as she drew the final magical symbols and closed the working.

Professor Smokewind, who sat two tables away, bent over his own work, spoke up. "Don't give her a swell head, Boneweaver. She may be precise now, but you haven't seen her temper."

Tris was thankful she'd finished the working, or she might have proven Smokewind right. She meditated every day, and she worked hard to keep her power confined, but days like today made it especially hard for her. There was a thunderstorm coming, and her hair, free of the power that had burdened it for the first time in nearly six years, was starting to frizz. Bleeding the magical strength from her hair had been no small task, and she'd worked hard for nearly a year with Niko and her foster-siblings to release it in ways that wouldn't harm or irreparably alter the weather systems around her.

_I wish I hadn't had to do that,_ she grumbled silently. _I'd forgotten how much I relied on that magic being close at hand. But this place is so full of mages that I wouldn't get two steps before being recognized. _Even some of her teachers could see magic, even if they weren't ambient mages themselves. Smokewind, for example. His glares and heavily lined face could distract from it, but Tris knew he'd bespelled his glasses to show him signs of magical workings. He'd even paid for someone to inlay signs into the rims, so that he might change the nature of the spell at will. _That's another reason no one ever gets away with anything in his class. I'm sure he's got one of those inlays spelled to track cheating or lies._

Trisana fiddled with her own glasses unconsciously as she set down the just-finished spell. It was her last assignment for Smokewind's class this semester, and wouldn't affect her grade since she'd already passed her finals. But since she'd accepted Smokewind's invitation to work over the summer, he'd held true to his word and asked the head healer, Professor Boneweaver, to take an interest in her progress. So, regardless of the task, she worked as steadily and as patiently as she knew how, aware that the opinions of the two men in the room might well decide her fate.

Her control had grown over the past year such that she could now work as a _very_ basic healer, but that wasn't good enough. So she spent every day under the dual scrutiny of Smokewind and Boneweaver, who both seemed to be enjoying themselves far too much.

The two were obviously old friends. They bickered like Lark and Rosethorn, and never lost an opportunity to fill Tris's rapidly clearing schedule with extra workshops or classes.

The result was that despite the fact that the semester had technically ended, she spent nearly four hours under their supervision every day, finding new ways to combine and strengthen her magics so that she could best use the forces available to her. Her scrying abilities had come in handy here: she could see the inner workings of the body and her power without needing to draw fluid or create incisions, as many other non-healer mages had to in order to heal.

Her difficulties with healing lay three-fold: firstly, it was difficult to bend her enormous power to her will, especially at the small sizes within the confines of the body; secondly, her temper was still an issue, especially when she was using any form of lightning; and thirdly, most natural healers didn't have to direct which type of magic they needed to use, since their healing magic adjusted and dealt with whatever injury the body had sustained. But she _had_made progress. She almost had her power control down to the cellular level, and was starting to sense the body as individual systems rather than chemicals and minerals rolled together.

Still. Her temper and her magics were difficult to assess, let alone grip and control.

She stretched her cramped limbs, stowed her writing case, and thanked her teachers. They waved her out absently, promising to see her tomorrow, and returned to their in-depth discussion of magic's direct and indirect effects on unborn children.

Skirts flapping against her stocking-clad legs, Trisana made her way outside, feeling the storm above growing in power. There would be rain soon, and lightning and thunder would follow. The air had already begun to throb slightly beneath the impending rain, and she could feel the atmosphere flexing against her skin. There was nothing she loved more than a good storm, and this one was mixed in with freezing water from the Syth and warm water lifted off the Pebbled Sea.

Sweating a little, she left her writing case inside her empty room, out of the wind and rain, and locked the door. Then she slipped back out onto the landing, and traveled up, up to the roof and above the soaring white towers of Lightsbridge.

There was no one else out, as far as she could tell. She watched the winds scour the grounds thoroughly, but everyone was inside, trying to study or sleep through the noise of the storm.

There, it struck – scarcely a mile away, forks flashing against the black and green sky. She waited silently, feeling the world tremble around her.

Then she raised her arms, and the power in the sky plunged down to meet her, gushing into her skin and giving her a blaze of glorious power that raised the hair on her neck and rang through her body.

_Ah._

This was why the power of her braids was so addictive, when used as a substitute for rest and nourishment. This god-like movement of the earth and sky funneling through her, being channeled by her, made her remember the feeling of trying to halt the tides. The feeling of being able to stir the weather to her will and move mountains. The power to do anything – _anything_ – that she wanted to.

Sighing, she lowered her arms as the lightning was drawn into her power and stored for later. She'd taken in about as much as she could hold without her braids, and she'd spent far too long dispersing their power to be tempted to fill even one braid.

Leaning against one of the stone crenellations, she pulled a comb out of her dress's pocket and evenly stroked her hair, which still sparkled with lightning. Then she pulled it back under the silk snood she normally wore and brushed the remains of the storm off of her dress. Luckily it was one of the dresses made by Sandry, and wouldn't take any damage from tonight's adventure.

A little giddily, she wandered back down to her room and fell asleep.

…

His face was ashen. It had been so surprising and strangely familiar to see.

Was that what he looked like, when the winds and lightning came to him? He'd never had much interest in rain before, and his magic was weak from working too hard during class, but he had still felt the pressure moving northeast through Karang, and had sensed the skies opening up.

And then he'd seen her. Her plump figure starkly outlined against the sky, heavy skirts untouched by the water that poured around her. As the lightning fell, he'd almost cried out to her, to warn her, but then he felt the storm embracing her, wrapping around her like a cloak, rather than overwhelming her.

And she'd withstood it. She'd turned her face up to the sky and borne it, reveled in it, like she'd been made to be a part of it.

It made his mouth go dry with heart-thudding anxiety and more than a little envy. She had lost her fear, somehow, or else had never had any.

Evert stumbled away from the window he'd watched the scene from, leaning against the wall. Would he ever be that good? Would he ever have that control, the ability to call down a single strike of lightning, leaving everything – including her clothes and herself – untouched?

Breathing hard, he decided he'd have a talk with her as soon as possible. Hopefully before his parents arrived to attend Andria's graduation ceremony in a week.

He had no idea how strong Tris was, and honestly didn't care. Strength had little to do with what he wanted to learn. This was about Triselle's control over her emotions, and about how in hell she'd managed to keep her power from merging with the storm and blowing a crater into one of Lightsbridge's towers.

Evert didn't even want to _think_ about the last time he'd allowed himself out in a storm. He was fine when he was the one creating the weather, or just shaping a small part of it with his power, but weather mages especially were prone to being consumed by their workings with the forces of nature.

He'd already asked her once if she'd like to discuss her power with him. He'd just have to ask again. More firmly this time.

…

As luck would have it, Tris and Evert did not cross paths the next day, and Tris spent her time performing her first true healing. Although she'd objected at first, Smokewind and Boneweaver had eventually convinced her to try on a rabbit with a broken leg before she experimented on people. They told her that all healers started simply, and learned through healing animals first.

But Tris was not about to risk an animal's life unduly, especially an animal who'd done her no wrong. She only relented after they told her that she could not get her mage's healing credential until she'd proved she could heal both animals and humans. Boneweaver stood at her shoulder to take over if she failed, in which case he would heal the animal himself, and they would try again on another animal from the infirmary.

They raised the wards on the room and she sunk into her magic, feeling the lightning's strength still blazing within her. The break in the rabbit's leg was clean, and would take some time to heal. She deftly repositioned the bone slightly until it was aligned with the surrounding muscles and tendons, and then she began her work. She was more careful than she'd ever been, feeling with each moment the faint beating of the rabbit's heart and the pulse of the blood through his body.

At last she was done. She'd done all she could to guard against infection and shock, and so she folded her magic away inside of her, beaming at Boneweaver. He gave her a slight smile and nodded at Smokewind, whose face was sour, as usual.

_Maybe I can do this._

…

She'd written back to the Duke accepting his invitation to his wedding, and was composing her letters to her siblings when she felt a familiar magical touch in her mind.

_Tris, can you hear me?_

She set down her brush and stared at the wall for a moment. _Sandry? Is that you? I thought you were in Summersea._

_She is. We all are,_ came Briar's voice. _We're at the house right now, out on the porch in my garden. I can't believe we can reach this far._

Daja spoke up. _We called because we wanted to know how far our magic could extend. I asked Briar about it last time, when we talked to you with the caravan, and we agreed; I think our range has increased again. It was far too easy to speak with you, especially for Briar._

Tris sighed._ I suppose it was what happened in Namorn, with our circle – am I right?_

Sandry, sipping some water as she spun some wool, nodded. _We talked to Niko about it – he says hello, by the way – and that's what he thinks. He examined the scars from our lumps, and said they're acting as living _bijilis_ within us. He also thinks they may grow in power as we do._

_Has he said what the new range is?_ Tris asked, putting away her pens. She wouldn't need them for a while if she could mind-speak with her siblings now._Or is he still trying to measure it? I know he has problems trying to gauge our strength, especially in our bond or in relation to each other._

_He said his best guess is about two thousand miles or so, Coppercurls,_ said Briar. _He's not completely sure, so he said we should test it if we ever get the chance._

_He also agrees that our connection may still wax or wane depending on our strength,_ Daja said. She sounded tired, as if she'd been working in the forge._He says the best thing to do is to make sure at least one of us is always at full strength, or near full strength, and it should help the others recover more quickly. And if at least one of us is still strong, the circle should work across distances, regardless of how weak the others are._

Sandry tied off the last of her thread and began to spool it. _We also mentioned the magical copy of Discipline that Briar made, the one in here. Niko seemed to think we should try using that to work together in the future, because there's less risk of us exhausting ourselves when we pool our magic._

Tris had one final question. _Is there any chance our lumps and the magic-sharing will make us combine again?_

Briar's voice was firm in her mind. _No. He said the lumps are still working as the barriers Sandry made when she separated us back then._

Sandry stood from the little table they had gathered around. _We know you're tired, Tris, and so are we. We'll talk about this more when you're home with us over the summer, okay?_

_Oh_, Tris thought, suddenly reminded of her news for them. _About that; I might not be home until His Grace's wedding. I've been invited to work under Smokewind and Boneweaver over the summer._


	9. Chapter 8

**8/23/12**

**Oh my god. School. Life. I have no time or energy for anything right now. I am so sorry this is taking so long. Thank you to everyone who's still reading, I started this chapter two months ago and have had no time for anything since then.**

**[Edit: Sorry guys, fixed the repeating chapter problem. ^^;]**

–**Blue**

* * *

**Bottled Lightning: Chapter 8**

**By Rachel Poulson**

**––––––––––**

Tris could tell that her siblings were a little disappointed to hear about her shortened return home, but they accepted it with good grace, and congratulated her. She spent the whole night deciding which books to pack, and in another girl her excitement might have been called giddiness. The morning dawned far too early for her liking, and she swung her legs over the side of her bed while grumbling about heating pipes that didn't work.

It was Rhealle's birthday that week, and Tris had bought her a book while in the town near Lightsbridge, not knowing what else to buy. But since it was supposed to be something Rhea would enjoy, Tris had bought her a tawdry book with a printed picture of a shirtless man on the cover. It had made her cheeks burn to be seen buying it, but it was gift; she held her hooked nose high and ignored the knowing look from the bookseller.

It rained all week. Evert and Andria's family came to check their progress and give them notice to pack for the holidays, and Rhea finally worked up the courage to kiss Kouja on the cheek. Onani took Tris hiking in the hills, and she picked and pressed some flowers for Briar.

Two days before the Lairanese cousins were scheduled to leave, Tris found out exactly what form Evert's weather magic took.

In one of the fields used for magical experimentation, an explosion of lightning blew a huge chunk out of the greenery, scorching the earth around it and setting fire to a few nearby bushes. The flames were quickly blown out by the wind which encircled the meadow.

Evert's friends stood in a small group well away from his demonstration, behind one of the wooden barriers set up for just that purpose. He walked back, wiping a hand across his forehead with a smile. "Well that was fun."

Trist was the first to recover. "You're a war mage." she said bluntly, flinty eyes narrowed at him.

Andria sighed. "He's _kind_ of a war mage. His magic is best suited towards it, so he's been studying it since the magic tester found him." She waved a hand vaguely. "Personally I think he's better suited to performance magic. He never misses a chance to show off."

Onani's mouth was open, but his expression turned into a grin. "That was incredible. If I ever need to recommend a battle mage to someone, you'll be my first choice."

Evert preened and Andria elbowed him in the ribs. Tris wondered sometimes if he didn't have a permanent bruise from her sharp nudges.

On the way back to the dorms, Tris barely listened to the conversation, nodding occasionally, but lost in her world of lightning and thunder.

She'd seen it. Seen the light in his face as he pulled apart his hands to create a ball of lightning so much like the ones she used herself. Seen his smile, the tense brow, eyes glowing in the white light, because he was _enjoying it_, because he _liked _the way it felt to hold that power in his hands and not flinch–

Was that what she looked like? When she danced in the rain, skirts spinning around her body, rain soaking her because she didn't honestly care, braids released from their snood, soaking up the lightning like some mad girl trying to _become_ the storm?

Back in her rooms, she lay on her bed for a long time, thinking. Why had he been so keen to help her with her magic? Did he have the ability to sense her magic, if it was akin to his own? Had he known all along? What was the extent of his magical connection with weather? Was it only weather, or could he sense the earth as she could? Could he feel the tides? Did he have problems keeping his power in check? What was his mage kit? How was he so _normal_?

She fell asleep as a light rain began to fall over Lightsbridge, soothing her mind and her magic, allowing her a deep dreamless sleep.

…

By the next night, another storm had forced its way through Lightsbridge, hail pounding the walls and battering the defensive spells on the glass windows. Tris remembered that last taste of Karang lightning, and she wanted to feel fresh for her studies with Boneweaver and Smokewind. Magical studies and application drained her magic harshly, and it was always nice to feel a little replenished before a big project.

This time she was more cautious about being seen, especially with the show Evert had put on yesterday; she sent her power out, searching for watchers on the grounds, and found none. Lightsbridge guards had more to worry about than an idiot student staying out on the walls in such appalling weather.

She carefully set aside her glasses and tucked her scarf into her bag, loosening her snood, the metalic net which held her carefully pinned hair. The fabric of her gown and oiled cloak were bristling with static electricity, gathered in anticipation of the storm.

She relaxed a part of her magic. Breezes wrapped around her, pushing the hail away so she could work in peace, the airways free to nuzzle her face as they'd longed to do since her first appearance in Karang. Images began to flicker before her vision, urging her to scry and listen to them. She was in the middle of calling down a stab of lightning when her senses screamed at her.

Trisana threw her head back and saw.

Evert was wreathed in the sparks which were his magic's imitation of the lightning above, forcing his way across the roof of the stone tower on which she stood. He had one hand up, as if to shield himself from the growing power overhead, which wanted to use him as a path. His face was chalk-white under the sickly glow of the lightning and the raindrops' reflected moonlight.

Her eyes widened. "You shouldn't be here," she shouted, lightning withdrawing for a moment as she released her grip.

His short-cropped blonde hair stood in every direction, creating a halo around him as he reached out a hand. Not towards her, she saw, but towards the lightning still lingering around him.

"What are you doing?" he yelled back, grasping the trickles of lightning. "I thought you were sensible! You're a weather mage standing in a storm!" The veins in his neck stood out tensely from the surrounding flesh, and his body trembled under the weight of the power. The storm was growing, filling the sky and charging the air too quickly for their breezes to soothe its sparks.

Irritation filled Tris as she struggled to keep her emotions and magic in check. "You idiot! You'll get yourself killed!" _He doesn't know how to do this,_ she realized, _he's not used to affecting weather while it's happening!_

His face gleamed with sweat. "I'll be fine! I'm a weather mage too, right?" He raised both hands towards the sky, face grim, calling with his power. She flung out a hand, trying to divert the path of the electricity.

–_no, no, please don't, I can't protect him if he's pushing my magic away, why are people so stupid, god I hope this doesn't hurt–_

The lightning answered.

–_pijule fakol, Evert, you bloody idiot–_

An enormous bolt struck them both, enveloping in a soft whiteness that crisped flesh off bones and burned the tallest trees from the inside out. They stood together in the center, their magic twining through the lightning, feeling its kinship and soaking its power into their bones' marrow.

Tris looked upwards in the midst of that overwhelming whiteness, twisting her hands and pushing the lightning back up into the storm before it could obliterate the tower they stood on. Evert stood where he'd been struck, staring dumbly at her, eyes wide and face pale. Tris marched towards him, anger lining her features as the power settled within her.

"I knew I couldn't hold it all, you see," he rambled loudly, "So I thought I'd give a little back, because it's just lightning and it won't hurt me–"

The sound of her hand hitting his face rebounded off the buildings and then was swallowed in a growl of thunder.

"You're crazy," she said flatly. Her eyes were blurred without her glasses, and she was too furious to remember the spell to adjust her sight magically. "You're crazy, and you're a weather mage, and you could have blown this whole college apart with that. Haven't you learned any _control_?"

"I'm not crazy! It's just lightning! I'm a weather mage, the same as you," he responded. "So stop treating me like an idiot because I don't walk around engrossed in my own smartness all the time." He rubbed his aching hands together nervously. "Sure, it's harder to use than my lightning, but it's just lightning."

"Just lightning?" She glared at him as best she could through her poor vision. "You moron. You stupid, stupid moron. You don't even know, do you? How stupid you are?" She was repeating herself, she knew, and she didn't sound very intelligent right now, but honestly the thought bore repetition. _If I hadn't been out here tonight, if he'd tried to handle the power on his own…._ She shuddered.

Making a sign next to her eyes, she fixed her vision and looked him in the eyes. "Lightning is not your tool. Lightning is not a pet. Lightning is not something you can just use and expect it never to bite the hand that feeds." She stabbed a round finger into his chest, forcing him backwards. "Haven't you ever been outside in a storm before? Don't you know what it's like to be afraid? Haven't you ever wondered why people think weather mages are so dangerous?"

She had him pressed against the tower's stone wall, her magic seething beneath her icy exterior. "Don't you understand what happens when you _hit someone with lightning?_"

Her grey eyes were cold, she knew, too cold, but she was tired of pretending not to be what she was, and she was tired of people breaking things that she had to put back together again.

She took a deep breath, backing away, staring out into the rain. "You shouldn't study war magic," she said flatly, "until you understand what it means to take a life. Until you understand what it means to be in a war."

He was shaken to the core, but not so shaken that some part of him didn't feel offended at the insinuation that he was naïve. "Oh, and I suppose you know what it means to be at war?"

She went completely still, her eyes locked on his, and her breathing was shallow, dangerously so. He backed up until his whole body was pressed against the sopping wet stone, unable to look away from the burning behind her deep grey eyes.

Her eyes were full of silence and an earthquake pressing in from all sides and the drowning of sailors as their ships were blown apart and a wildfire passed through her flesh and a plague that killed thousands and a murderer was sunk into the ground and a huge magical wall was shattering for miles–

And behind it all was a blank wall which said _If you hurt them, I will kill you._

He blinked, and it was gone. He felt wretched, nauseous, his body still aching from the power it had tried to absorb. He stumbled to the side, clutching at the stone wall as she retrieved her bag and her glasses, canceling the vision spell and ignoring him. She walked into the tower, still shaking with anger.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to return to reason, breathing slowly and trying to clear her mind.

_My name is Trisana Chandler and I'm twenty years old. I'm a weather witch, I'm studying at Lightsbridge, my foster siblings are Daja Kisubo, Sandrilene fa Toren, and Briar Moss. Home is Summersea, at Daja's house, with Briar's garden and Daja's workshop; home is also Discipline with Lark and Rosethorn and Crane and Niko…_

She wouldn't cry, because she hadn't actually lost control, but it took her a long time to get to sleep, even with the steady thrumming of sleet against her windowpane.


	10. Chapter 9

**8/27/12 – 9/11/12**

**I hate that I do this (no updates for months, and then two close together), but I really want to finish this story. I'm still in love with Tris, as always, but I mostly do this for you guys, the awesome people who read and review and favorite. So thank you, for making this whole thing worth it. I promise there are only a few more chapters until the conclusion. :)**

**I'm finishing this at 3:20am on the anniversary of the September 11****th**** terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, and I wanted to dedicate this to the victims. Not in some jumped-up attempt to make my work relevant, but because I feel I should offer something happy to their memory.**

–**Blue**

**Bottled Lightning: Chapter 9**

**By Rachel Poulson**

––––––––––

Tris slept through Lairanese cousins' early morning departure. She'd already said her goodbyes to Andria earlier in the week, and she had nothing to say to Evert.

However, she was up in time to say farewell to Koja and Koura, who had decided to travel to Summersea for training with the sailor mages working at the docks. "They'll teach us to work as water mages," Koura explained, his deep voice carrying only a hint of an accent now. "I spoke to a representative of their mage guild, and he referred us to a master mage who will take us on for a summer apprenticeship." He grinned, white teeth flashing happily against his rich brown skin.

The action reminded Tris of Daja, and she smiled back, happy that her friends were growing more comfortable with their magic.

She remembered what it was like learning about her magic at first: the skepticism, the anger, the frustration with her own limits and the limits of magic.

Could she have done differently? Could she have trained as a mage with her parents' approval? Could she have become a weather witch to rival any other, a mage loyal to her family, a mage who protected House Chandler, a mage who would be willing to do anything to keep her clan safe?

Yes. If they had known it was magic, she knew that's what she would have become.

If they hadn't sent her away, she would have done it. Love and affection are powerful lures, especially for a young girl who is angered and confused by the world around her. She would have been Trisana Chandler, who sank the ships of rival houses, who fed false information to other weather mages, who helped House Chandler and extracted a high price from everyone else.

Tris knew what her younger self would have been willing to do for even an _ounce_ of the acceptance from her own family that Sandry received from Duke Vedris. She really was a merchant to the bone. A merchant's first rule was to always know how much something was worth, and in eight-year-old Tris's eyes, familial approval would have been worth a sea of gold. The ships she'd sank to protect Winding Circle wouldn't have come _close_ to the atrocities she would have been willing to commit for her parents.

But now that commitment had changed. Because she _had_ been thrown out. She _had_ been tossed from cousin to cousin like an unfortunate pet. And everything she would have been willing to do for House Chandler? Gone.

_But I would do it for them,_ her voice whispered in her mind. _Briar. Sandry. Daja. I would do it all for them, a thousand times over, because they chose me, and I chose them._

_I will always choose them._

After breakfast, Tris wandered into the gardens, where she found an unassuming stone bench and took a seat in the shade.

It was pleasant, not to have homework to do for once. She enjoyed being busy, but she'd begun to feel worn by the constant pressures of schoolwork. Not to mention her reading time had taken a serious blow, an injury she felt she should fix over the summer. After checking on the breeze that no one was around, she took off her sensible leather shoes and peeled off her thin stockings, leaning back against the tree with a sigh.

The tree smelled like home. There was plenty of jasmine in this section of the garden, and sage too. She could also smell some of the dyes from the loom house on the east side of the campus, and the whisper of metal drifting off the forges.

She missed it. She didn't like to say so, but she missed it. She'd wanted to go home, wanted desperately to be back with people who didn't judge her, who would always forgive her, who knew her better than she knew herself.

It almost scared her, how much she wanted to go back; How much she relied on those three to remind her who she was. Last night, she hadn't been Tris. She'd been Trisana Chandler, used to privilege and respect and people listening when she spoke. And then Evert had said what he said, about war, and she'd broken a little inside. She'd almost done it. She was a hair's breadth away from calling the lightning to strike him, and strike _hard_.

She didn't want to be that. She was a better person around her siblings. She was Tris. She was lightning and earth and rain and wind and spectacles and petticoats and red braids, all rolled together. She wanted to be more than the killer she secretly suspected herself to be.

A voice touched her mind softly, and she allowed it in.

_What's wrong, Coppercurls? You've got the glooms._ Briar felt like curling leaves and spring, rustling in the wind of her mind, soothing her worries and calming her down.

She swallowed. _Are you busy? I don't want to interrupt what you're doing._

He laughed aloud; she could feel the shaking of his throat through their connection. _I'm lying in the garden, trying to sleep and failing miserably. Besides, I'm never too busy for you, Coppercurls._

Tris smiled and adjusted her weight against the tree. _I'm in the gardens here. It's really beautiful._ She showed him her surroundings in her mind. _All of Lightsbridge is like this. The whole place is soaked in magic._

He rolled onto his side, stroking a green bud. _But you're not happy. What's got you down? That ol' sourpuss, Smokewind?_

She was quiet for a moment. _I think I'm homesick. I miss you three, and Lark and Rosethorn, and Niko. I miss being with you._

_What's so weird about that? _Briar hummed absentmindedly as they spoke. _I miss you all the time, Coppercurls. We all do._

That made her feel a little better, but it also made her tear up. _Thanks, Briar. I just wish I'd never agreed to this. I'd like to come home now and congratulate Yasmin and the Duke in person, and visit Glaki at Discipline, and listen to Sandry talk about boys and you and Daja talk about girls–_

Briar gave a mental cough. _Sandry's, uh – she's not exactly talking about boys anymore, Coppercurls._ He made a complicated gesture with his hands that was Briar-talk for 'I don't know how to say this without sounding like an idiot.'

Tris raised a very fair eyebrow. _What's that supposed to mean?_

Instead of telling her, he showed her flashes of memories, including waking up to giggles and accidentally overhearing, and Sandry walking out of Daja's room, and Daja singing to Sandry with her head in her lap, and–

Tris pulled away. _Okay. Well. Okay. Um. That's new._

_Tell me about it. I nearabouts had a heart attack the first time I noticed._ He fiddled a piece of dandelion between his fingers. _Can't wait to hear what the kingdom will think about their Duchess having a female lover, and a Tsaw'ha at that._

_At least they're happy,_ Tris sighed. _I wondered when Sandry would settle down with someone – you know she doesn't like being alone._

_Yeah, _he replied.

They sat in silence for a moment, presence comforting and familiar. _This_ was what Tris missed most of all. She missed belonging in someone else's mind, someone else's mind that was also in some strange way her own.

_I can't imagine loving someone like that,_ she confided at last. _Not just in bed – but knowing that they sacrifice for you and want you._

_It's not bad, being in love,_ he said. _It's a bit like being drunk, except without all the exploding barns and hay and stuff._

She chuckled, taking off her glasses and laying her arm over her eyes to cool them. _I could never get married. They'd keep expecting me to put down my books and listen to them._

Briar grinned, knowing exactly what Tris said to people who attempted to stop her reading. _Tell you what, Coppercurls. When Sandry's ruling Summersea, and we're all bigshot mages in court, if people start to say you should be married – for your honor or something silly like that – I'll marry you myself to shut them up. Deal?_

She laughed until her ribs ached, only stopping when her hair caught on some bark and she paused to pull it out. _Briar, I'm surprised Rosethorn hasn't beaten all the jokester out of you already. You did travel with her for years._ Her deft fingers unwound the braid and caught the sharp tip of foliage.

Leaves drifted down from the oak tree in Briar's garden. _Yeah, well. There's only so much she can do when I'm not living with her anymore. But I see her almost every day anyways, when she visits or comes to restock the medicines at Urda's House. Did I tell you I've been working there on the weekends?_

_Yes, you mentioned it in your last letter. _It made her proud of him, but also a little jealous; she couldn't work there until she was a healer, but he was welcome at any time. _Maybe when I graduate I'll work there too._

She felt a surge of happiness from Briar. _You're doing well in your training, then? It'll be nice to have someone there who doesn't talk my ear off. And you know they'll be happy for any help you can give._ An image filled his mind, of them sitting on the floor in the basement, her with her face in a book, him replenishing medicinal stores, the light of day filtering through a dingy shuttered window. She could feel that the scene was one of warmth and friendship for him.

Tris sent him a smile through their connection. _Of course, Briar. I'm not _that_ heartless yet._

They said their silent farewells and Tris left the gardens, feeling lighter than she had in a long time.

…

The first clue that the summer project had begun was the influx of students into the nearby town; the inns were full to the bursting, and the campus was strangely empty of everyone except for teachers and other Lightsbridge staff.

Then the children and their families took up lodgings in the guest center, and Tris had to make a concerted effort to dodge the chattering groups asking for directions.

The second clue was Smokewind finding her at lunch one day and frowning, then indicating that they had a bunch of snot-nosed brats to deal with and he'd be damned if he was going to supervise all of them. She took that to mean that he'd missed her acerbic comments.

There were twenty-four students in all, ranging in age from six to seventeen. They all had common ambient magics, including glassblowing, metalwork, fire, water, stone, cooking, healing, and art. The variety confused Tris at first, until she realized that the point of the program was to discover and discuss a large variety of subjects, and to allow the mages to grow from contact with others.

Over the course of the first week, Tris healed three people and six animals, and each time left her magic heavily depleted. She also learned how to calm children and speak to a crowd. Be confident, Smokewind said, glowering over his glasses. You could blow their hats off any time you like, so just _remember that._ They don't need to know that, but they need to know that you aren't going to be bowled over.

Frustrated from a day of handling the younger group, her pale eyebrows had snapped together and she'd replied that _she'd been trying thank you very much and she was doing her best._

Calmly, infuriatingly, he'd raised an eyebrow, a slim smile crossing his face. "We'll see." And he'd walked away, leaving her stewing, embarrassed, and feeling like an idiot for almost losing her temper with a teacher who took pleasure in being an old crosspatch. Eventually she walked to the private washrooms, had a soak, and showed up the next morning with a new grim set to her face and an expression that made the children immediately stop talking. It wasn't that she was terrifying – it was that she was _not being harsh_, and there was the implied danger of her being harsh, and you did not want to see her be harsh. They quieted down and did their work much more readily, and Tris nodded to Smokewind when he caught her eye that evening.

_I guess the old fraud does know his stuff, _she said to her siblings through their connection, and was surprised at the snort of mental laughter it elicited.

Right. She'd forgotten that she was able to talk to them.

_How are you, Tris? It's been almost a _month_ since we spoke,_ Sandry gushed, setting pegs into a frame for large-scale loom work. _I'm so sorry I haven't been here more often, I've just had so much to do with the formal announcement of my inheritance and Uncle's wedding preparations._

Tris smiled at her sister's lightheartedness, picking up some paperwork she had to finish before the end of the day. _It's fine Sandry. Is Daj' there too?_

Sandry giggled nervously. _Why should she, uh, be here?_

Tris removed her glasses to rub tired eyes. _Sandry, it's okay. I know. Briar accidentally spilled the secret the last time we spoke._

_Oh._ She twisted the wooden peg in between her fingers. _I didn't- I guess I should have thought about what I was going to say to you. I'm sorry._

That was Sandry, apologizing for something natural because she thought she'd upset them. _Don't say sorry, Sandry. Honestly, I don't mind, and Briar doesn't mind. We were a little surprised, I guess, but it doesn't matter to us whether you prefer men or women._ She put down her paperwork, aware of the worry her sister was going through. _We're your family, always, no matter what you choose. Don't you remember that much from Namorn?_

Sandry sat down, abandoning her loom for a minute._ It's not that I don't trust you both– it's just that, in court, they don't– they'll say I'm– _Her mental voice faltered. _They won't let me rule, if I can't produce an heir. And they won't– they won't accept her if she's a Trader._ She fell silent, her eyes very wet.

Tris was quiet for a long moment. Then, grey eyes flashing with literal and metaphorical storms, Tris spoke to her sister. _It doesn't matter._

The blonde girl hiccupped in surprise and confusion. _What? What do you mean it doesn't matter?_

Keeping a firm grip on her temper, Tris explained. _It doesn't matter what they think. You have the entirety of your rain to produce an heir – it doesn't have to be your blood child, and if it does then you can speak with Daja about how to get pregnant. I know there are healers out there who specialize in women who love other women, and there are plenty of love charms to promote pregnancy on the first try. And if you don't want to bear a child, you can always adopt a child._

_But an adopted child– _Sandry began, before Tris cut her off.

_We were all adopted, and look how we turned out? You'll be the Duchess of Emelan and a powerful mage, with three mage siblings and the might of Winding Circle behind you. You can do as you like._

Sandry wiped her nose on her sleeve, which would have horrified any noble who'd seen it, and sighed. _I suppose I'm just being silly and overdramatic. Briar said the same thing to me when I asked him for advice._

Feeling a warm glow at the turn of mind she shared with her brother, Tris grumbled, _You're not being silly. You're being practical and overly-sentimental at the same time, which is something I guess I should expect from you by this point._

_And about Daja – if you choose to start and continue your reign with her as your lover, think of all the good that could come out of this. Sure, there will always be malcontents who grumble, but you could create wider acceptance for Trader clans, and Traders might be more willing to trade and bargain with Summersea merchants if there was some Tsaw'ha blood in the government._

_I suppose I hadn't thought of it like that,_ Sandry whispered, her eyes and mind alight with the possibilities. _But what if it doesn't work out? _And that was the fear that Sandry held close to her heart, the fear that maybe someday she and Daja wouldn't love each other and that would tear apart their family again, like the time before Namorn only worse, and they wouldn't want to be near her anymore, because she was just a Duchess in a tower, fit only to be wedded and bedded–

_Sandry, stop,_ Tris ordered. _You're working yourself into a swivet. Calm down._

Sandry wiped her eyes and tried to breathe more slowly. _You're right._

_Listen to me. No matter what, no matter whom we all become, no matter what we do, no matter what people think of us – Sandry, the four of us are _one._ We will always be one._

Blowing her nose and drying her eyes took a few minutes, but the stitch-witch did it, and felt much better. Then she smiled weakly. _I miss you, Tris. You've always been the most sensible of us. And the most kind-hearted._

Tris waved it off. _I've got a reputation to protect. Now go and give everyone a hug for me and tell them I'll be home in a month or so._

_Thanks, Tris._ A surge of good-feeling enveloped Tris from Sandry, something that made the weather witch smile as she turned back to her paperwork.

I hope she tells Daja that Briar and I know, or the next conversation the four of us have will be very awkward,Tris thought to herself.

Despite the fears her sisters held, Tris felt better about life than she had in a long time. Maybe it was because two of the four were in love, and that made their circle brighter and stronger, happier.

That was food for thought. They could already detect each other's moods – could they affect each other's moods? She sat down and tried to puzzle it out, brain buzzing, surrounded by the hum of magic, Lightsbridge's halls echoing with wind and laughter and hope.


End file.
